Just Listen

For some reason whenever I tell a friend my house burned down and try to explain what is I’m going through not that they ask, they find then, in the midst of my suffering, the time to wax on about their own woes before I’ve enough time to speak more than a blurb, a little, I don’t know, not more than a spurt, a quiet comment, only the first line of my epic prose on the sufferings of man by the fire’s hand, am I silenced by the run of the mill unhappinesses (that are no less worthy of an ear than my own) which have plagued my dear friends soul. To which I can only reply with a heavy heart and a calm sensitivity as I listen on and on about girl and boy trouble, needing money for rent and utilities FOR THE HOUSE THEY STILL HAVE! …. I’m sorry, I’m not bitter, I only wonder if I had lost someone in those terrible flames that perhaps then I might warrant an ear, then I’d be worthy of your problem’s patience, but no, now I’ve only lost a home, a house, walls can be rebuilt, roofs can be remade, you’ll have a place someday and the insurance covers it all, so you must be okay… I’ve only lost a place to call my own, I am a hermit crab out at sea riding these tremendous waves while danger swims all around, I swim naked on my own. Where? what shell to call my home, fitting and round to toss me more easily onward I need a home to shell up in else I am eaten whole. A test of more seemingly infinite patience
The sea rewards me with more.

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